Inklings Forever

Volume 7 A Collection of Essays Presented at the

Seventh Frances White Ewbank Colloquium on C.S. Article 22
Lewis & Friends

6-3-2010

Old MacDonald Had a Farm: An Exploration of

Animal Literature and its Subtext through the
Theology of George MacDonald
Laura Stanifer
Indiana University - Kokomo

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Stanifer, Laura (2010) "Old MacDonald Had a Farm: An Exploration of Animal Literature and its Subtext through the Theology of
George MacDonald," Inklings Forever: Vol. 7 , Article 22.
Available at: https://pillars.taylor.edu/inklings_forever/vol7/iss1/22

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 INKLINGS FOREVER, Volume VII

A Collection of Essays Presented at the Seventh

FRANCES WHITE COLLOQUIUM on C.S. LEWIS & FRIENDS
Taylor University 2010
Upland, Indiana

Old MacDonald Had a Farm

An Exploration of Animal Literature and its Subtext through the
Theology of George MacDonald

Laura Stanifer

Tales all the way from Grimms’ The Frog Princess to C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia all tell
us that there is more subtext to animals in literature than we realize. They can represent the
meaning of family, as in the werewolves in Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series, or the character of
our soul, as in the Harry Potter series. I will touch on each of these elements while centering on
George MacDonald’s view of animals as representing one of God’s miracles, amazingly similar
to humans in their feeble nature and yet just as capable of being redeemed in the end. Matthew
15:27 says, “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” MacDonald,
taking this verse to heart, shows us the extent of God’s love and mercy for every one of his
creation.

Stanifer, Laura “Old MacDonald Had a Farm: An Exploration of Animal Literature and its
Subtext through the Theology of George MacDonald.”
Inklings Forever 7 (2010) www.taylor.edu/cslewis
 Old MacDonald Had a Farm: An Exploration of Animal Literature and its
Subtext through the Theology of George MacDonald
Laura Stanifer, Indiana University Kokomo

In writing The Hope of the Gospel, George MacDonald gave us a glimpse into the

deepest thoughts of an exceptional man. He based the last chapter on deciphering what the

apostle Paul meant when he said in Romans 8:19, “For the earnest expectation of the creature

waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God” (KJV, emphasis added). MacDonald, believing

that Paul needed to be interpreted on a much higher plane of thought than most people would

dare venture, presented his case in this chapter for the redemption of animals. Because I agree

with him that there is much more to our fellow creatures than lowly submission, I will be

exploring his theology on the afterlife and substantiating it with examples from other literature.

First, MacDonald makes the case that if God created animals only to let them be

destroyed, then He is not the God we know and love. MacDonald scoffs at the idea many

Christians have that yes, animals suffer in this life, but when they die, although not redeemed,

they’ll no longer suffer. He says, “Surely rest is better than ceaseless toil and pain! But what

shall we say of such a heedless God as those Christians are content to worship! Is he a merciful

God” (99)?

To believe that God would take time to create something good and then “annihilate” it

forever (101) was illogical, MacDonald thought. Perhaps still reeling from his Calvinistic

childhood, it seems that he could not bear any part of theology that suggests that God is less than

loving. “Were such a creature possible,” he insists, “he would not be God, but must one day be

found and destroyed by the real God” (99). He believed that God must be at least as loving as the
most compassionate human being, and since MacDonald himself couldn’t bear the thought of

damning any creature for all eternity, neither, he thought, could God.

The reason for our unbelief in the beast’s redemption, MacDonald states, is twofold. One

reason is that we have picked up “prejudices” from others and don’t care to waste thought on any

creature’s salvation but our own (100). Another reason is that we are afraid of imagining too

much of God. “Multitudes evidently count it safest to hold by a dull scheme of things,” he says.

“Can it be because, like David in Browning’s poem Saul, they dread lest they should worst the

Giver by inventing better gifts than his” (103)? Considering some people’s mediocre ideas of

heaven, this reason is plausible. It demonstrates not only our fear of going against the flow of

mainstream theology but MacDonald’s audacity for a man of his time.

Second, MacDonald believed that animals, like humans, are fallen from the way they

were meant to be, and are therefore destined to be redeemed. He persisted in denying that God

would create animals “only that they may be the prey of other creatures, or spend a few hours or

years, helpless and lonely, speechless and without appeal…then pass away into nothingness”

(100). It is the “speechless and without appeal” part that I want to focus on. In the Bible, the only

instances of an animal talking were the serpent in Genesis and Balaam’s donkey. Neither of these

animals had the power of speech on his own but was simply a vessel for Satan, in the serpent’s

case, or God, in the donkey’s case. Because there is no mention of other animals speaking in the

Garden of Eden, it would seem that God did not intend them to.

By emphasizing that animals, in their helpless state, cannot defend themselves by speech,

MacDonald gives the impression that he hopes speech will come to them when they are

redeemed. In his novel Salted with Fire, James Blatherwick, a reformed minister, muses that we

will someday know the thoughts of dogs. “Wha can tell,” he says, “but the vera herts o’ the
doggies may ae day lie bare and open to oor herts, as to the hert o’ Him wi’ whom they and we

hae to do! Eh, but the thouchts o’ a doggie maun be a won’erfu’ sicht” (320)!

C.S. Lewis gives us quite a glimpse into a paradise of talking animals in The Magician’s

Nephew. Aslan, the great lion himself, is singing creation into Narnia when the children Polly

and Digory show up and watch. When Aslan finally speaks, Lewis writes, “It was of course the

lion’s voice. The children had long felt sure that he could speak: yet it was a lovely and terrible

shock when he did” (127). Echoing MacDonald’s hopes, the animals Aslan creates all chorus

together, “Hail, Aslan. We hear and obey. We are awake. We love. We think. We speak. We

know” (127). Here, at last, is creation the way it was meant to be, no longer “dumb and witless”

(129) but fully alive.

MacDonald, in The Hope of the Gospel, warns us that if we are to meet animals in

heaven, we should be careful how we treat them in this life. Lewis shows agreement with this

thought when a cab driver in The Magician’s Nephew meets up with his now talking horse,

Strawberry. When the horse finally remembers him, he says, “You used to tie a horrid black

thing behind me and then hit me to make me run” (133). The cab driver only recalls that he

treated the horse with care; but Strawberry’s memory, forcing us to take a walk in the shoes (or

hooves) of a horse, can be taken as a warning to us humans. If animals truly have a redeemed

soul, how will our treatment of them be remembered, and how will it be seen by God?

Third, MacDonald draws a parallel between humans and animals. He says we are both

lowly creatures and share a connection because we came from the same Creator. “Do you believe

in immortality for yourself?” he asks. “If you do, why not believe in it for them?..Had God been

of like heart with you [ in condemning animals to the grave], would he have given life and

immortality to creatures so much less than himself as we” (101)? MacDonald is trying to open
our eyes to the fact that we may see animals as lowly creatures not worth redeeming, but God

could have felt the same way about us. The chasm between ourselves and God is as deep as the

chasm we think exists between ourselves and animals.

In fact, having come from the same Creator, many of us have animal-like traits. We may

be more like a bulldog or a parakeet than we realize! For instance, how many people have said

that you move like a turtle? How many noses have you seen that reminded you of a bird’s beak?

It is not just superficial traits we have in common with animals, however. They can also

represent a part of our soul. In the Harry Potter series, J.K. Rowling gives each witch or wizard

something called a Patronus which takes the form of a silvery animal. This creature represents

what is inside each character’s soul and helps them ward off evil in the form of Dementors,

which are agents of the bad guy, Voldemort. In order to understand certain Patronuses, however,

you also have to understand the Animagi, which are people who can change into animals. Harry

Potter’s father, James, was an Animagus when he attended the school of Hogwarts, and he

shifted into a stag. Harry’s Patronus therefore takes the shape of that stag, meaning that his

thoughts are constantly on his father, who was killed.

A Patronus can also change form if the witch or wizard falls in love. For instance, the

unpredictable Professor Snape comes to Harry’s rescue with his Patronus in the shape of a silver

doe. Harry later finds out that his mother Lily had a Patronus that was a doe, and Snape had

always loved her. What does this say? That love changes the soul, and the animal in this case

represents the soul.

Another example of our connection with animals is in Stephenie Meyer’s phenomenally

successful Twilight series. In the first book, Twilight, the character Jacob Black explains his

family’s ancestry to the heroine, Bella. Born into a Quileute Indian family in the state of
Washington, Jacob recalls the legend that says Quileutes are descended from wolves and that

they have a connection with these animals even now. He experiences the legend himself in the

second book, New Moon, when he becomes part wolf and joins the already-established wolf pack

on the Quileute reservation.

The wolf pack is essentially a group of “disciples” headed by Sam, their leader. Similar

to the relationship between the twelve Biblical apostles, or even Isaac’s sons in Exodus, the

appropriately named Jacob and his wolf brothers run around fighting corrupt vampires. Each

wolf-man has his own characteristics even as a wolf. In Jacob’s case, he has the longest fur

because he has the longest hair as a human.

Connections between man and animal go back a long time, though. An earlier example

comes from one of Grimms’ fairy tales, The Frog Prince. Everyone knows the story of a frog

that is kissed by a princess and turned into a prince. In Grimms’ version, though, the frog is

thrown against the wall by the princess and then shifts back into his normal princely form.

However the story is told, the idea of a prince being trapped inside the body of a frog is what

captures our imagination. Considering George MacDonald’s high regard for lowly creatures and

his hope that they might have the gift of speech someday, he could surely imagine the qualities

of a prince coming out of a frog in heaven.

A final example comes from one of my favorite books, Tarzan of the Apes. When Edgar

Rice Burroughs created the character Tarzan, he wrote a story of an Englishman and his wife

stranded in Africa who leave behind a baby boy when they are killed by apes. The baby Tarzan

is found by a mother ape and grows up in the very family who killed his human parents. He feels

a connection with these apes, though, illustrated in the Disney version of Tarzan with the song

“You’ll Be in My Heart.” Although Darwin’s evolutionary theory was taking off during George
MacDonald’s time, the Scottish author’s belief in a connection between humans and animals

arose, I believe, not out of evolution but because of our ties to God. So also, no matter what

Burroughs intended for his story theologically, Tarzan’s connection to his ape family can be

interpreted as him feeling that they are both made by the same Creator.

What does the Bible have to say about animals? In Matthew chapter 15, a Canaanite

woman comes to Jesus and asks for her daughter’s healing. When he tells her, “It is not meet to

take the children’s bread, and cast it to dogs,” she answers, “Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the

crumbs which fall from their masters’ table” (v. 26-7, KJV). Jesus applauds her faith and heals

her daughter instantly. In MacDonald’s view, this would give us hope that the dogs and other

animals would at least get the crumbs which fall from the Great Supper of the Lamb.

Jesus draws a comparison between humans and the poorest of creatures, sparrows, in

Matthew 10:29, saying, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to

the ground apart from the will of your Father” (NIV). And the will of the Father, MacDonald

believed, was one of compassion for the weak. Wouldn’t this compassion extend to the very

sparrow he was talking about? There must be animals in heaven, MacDonald thought, so why

not the box turtle you’re already attached to on this earth? “The sons of God are not a new race

of sons of God,” MacDonald says in The Hope of the Gospel, “but the old race glorified: - why a

new race of animals, and not the old ones glorified” (106)?

As with so many verses of the Bible, we cannot absolutely interpret what Paul meant

when he said, “For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the

sons of God” (KJV). But we can be sure of one thing: God is loving, He is merciful, and He will

always do what is just. This applies to every creature, including sparrows, frogs, humans,

bulldogs, turtles, and parakeets. He said, “Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the
age” (NIV). Like Aslan, he breathed His creation into existence, and He will be with us at the

Last Battle… and beyond.

 Works Cited

The KJV Rainbow Study Bible. El Reno, OK: Rainbow Studies International, 1993.

The Layman’s Parallel Bible. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1991.

Lewis, C.S. The Magician’s Nephew. New York: Scholastic, Inc., 1995.

MacDonald, George. The Hope of the Gospel. LaVergne, TN: Dodo Press, 2010.

MacDonald, George. Salted with Fire. Whitehorn, CA: Johannesen, 1996.